A Legacy Most Frightening
by Synbu
Summary: Jarlaxle has the misfortune to meet a most...interesting lich. Sheer insanity and crazed humor ensue. Constructive critique is accepted, but no flaming. CHAPTER 3 FINALLY UP!
1. A Legacy Most Frightening

_A/N:(I'm insane. I admit it freely. This made me giggle while I was writing it, but then again I'm exhausted, so I guess anything would at this point.)_

_**Le Disclaimer:**_ No, I don't own any recognizable Forgotten Realms characters in this fanfic. Nor do I own the Mighty Boosh. Meh.

--

It was almost too easy, Jarlaxle thought to himself, grinning as he pocketed yet another golden trinket. This indeed had been a windfall by all standards.

Well, so far, so good. He and Entreri had stumbled upon this opportunity only the other day, after they'd rescued an aspiring musician from a band of irate merchants. The young man had expressed his undying loyalty to the pair and, instead of actually paying the two (to the ire of Entreri), had given them a map that led to "untold wonders and delights galore!"

"Are you done filling your cavernous pockets with gold, or shall I leave you and the gold alone for a moment?" snapped Entreri from the corner of the room, the only visible trinket in his possession a platinum goblet studded with diamonds. Jarlaxle held a handful of gold coins to his chest and fluttered his eyelashes at Entreri.

"I do believe we need a moment, my friend. Do come back when you've discovered the true pleasures of life." Scoffing at the absurd elf, Entreri stalked off into a corridor, the door banging shut on his departure.

"Ah, and now we have time to get to know one another, my lovelies," Jarlaxle crooned, pocketing more gold than seemed physically possible.

"Yes…yes…I know- you're lonely and cold here, but never you fear! Soon you shall be coveted and loved as once you were…though I daresay I've quite the talent for such things…" he sighed, his eyes glazing over as they caught sight of a gigantic ruby in the corner of the room. Upon noticing this gem, Jarlaxle stood and dashed over to the treasure, tripping more than once and almost losing his hat in his glee.

It wasn't until he'd gotten his hands on the thing that he realized his mistake.

As soon as his ebony hands touched the gem, a thick white mist filled the room, effectively obscuring his vision. An expression of annoyance crossed Jarlaxle's face at this new complication, taking off his overlarge hat and waving it in front of his face to combat the fog. It wasn't until he'd cleared most of the fog away from the front of his face that he noticed the figure standing in front of him.

It was emaciated, greenish flesh stretched taut across its face and body. Parts of the figure's arms and legs were speckled with what looked like silvery scales, while scraggly bluish-green hair sprouted from its head. The thing's eyes were completely black and almond shaped, indicating some kind of elven ancestry. Most confusing of all, however, was the fact that the figure was (as far as Jarlaxle could tell) male and yet it donned a hideous pale pink frock, rotten ribbons and droopy ruffles adorning the garment in some kind of macabre mockery of beauty.

The creature raised one clawlike hand.

"Hi there."

Jarlaxle twitched. He wasn't used to lichs (for it was indeed a lich- an especially ugly one at that) initiating conversation rather than cackling madly and launching deadly spells. He cleared his throat and offered a small grin.

"Hello, good sir. How do you fare this fine day?" The creature shrugged once, scales dropping to the floor as it did so.

"Been better. "

A brief silence fell upon the two.

"Might I know who I have the honor of addressing?" Jarlaxle began, trying to distract the lich as he edged towards the door.

"I'm Old Greg. Pleased to meet yer." Jarlaxle choked back a laugh. The lich fixed him with a stern glare.

"Whatcha doin' in my castle?"

Jarlaxle felt the beginning pangs of anxiety in his stomach.

"Er…well, taking in the view. Admiring your lovely abode. Definitely not removing your belongings."

"Then how come my cup's in yer hand, fool?" the lich began, pointing a gnarled finger at the incriminating object.

"Oh, that cup! _That_ cup! Uh…just moving it to a table. Off the floor."

It was definitely time to leave.

"It's in yer pocket, yer pansy!"

"I don't suppose I could persuade you to forget about this little incident-"

"I'm gonna hurt you."

Jarlaxle sighed. So much for the diplomatic method.

"I wouldn't try it, if I were you."

The lich's soulless eyes roamed over Jarlaxle's form, causing more than a little concern for the dark elf.

"I like you. What d'you think of me?"

Well, now _that_ was unexpected.

"I do believe you're…a perfectly…_reasonable_… half-dead wizard."

"Don't lie to me, lilyface!"

Lilyface? Jarlaxle wasn't sure whether to laugh or cringe at this.

"I know what you're thinkin'! 'Here comes Old Greg! He's a scaly corpse-man! He don't know anything about me!'" the lich continued, the pitch of its voice rising suddenly. Jarlaxle raised both hands in a calming gesture.

"Quite the opposite, I assure you. I have great faith in your comprehension of a great many things. For instance…could you, perchance, tell me the way out, since my assassin's shut me in here?"

"You could stay here. In Greg's place. I got all things that're good."

Jarlaxle suppressed a shudder.

"I'm sure you do. However, I'm an immensely busy man, Greg. It is imperative that I go."

"We could play a game of poker before you go. I was best at it always."

"A most beneficial talent, Greg, but I digress-"

"D'you love me?"

It was not often that Jarlaxle found himself surprised. He could even count the instances on his fingers. The number of times that he'd been horrified, however, he could count on one hand.

This, however, would make all other things obsolete in comparison.

"Oh dear," he managed through a rapidly closing throat. The lich shuffled closer, its eyes shining wetly.

"D'you love _me_?"

Jarlaxle cleared his throat.

"I've, ah, gone temporarily deaf and cannot hear a word you're saying."

"Could you ever love me?"

"Afraid I can't hear you."

"Could you learn to love me?"

Jarlaxle wiped the sweat from his brow. Where in the nine hells was Entreri when you actually _needed_ him?!

"It…ah…is far more complicated than that, Greg," Jarlaxle replied, forgetting his feigned deafness. The lich bobbed its head at Jarlaxle quizzically.

"How does it work, then? Tell me how it works."

"Well…what usually happens is one meets another in a bar, remarks are exchanged, and (if one meets with the second party's standards) they end up going upstairs and doing whatever strikes their fancy," Jarlaxle stammered, wondering if he should have given the typical definition of love rather than his own practices.

"What about this? This is a time!"

"This…really isn't a time, now is it, Greg? This is more of…a glimpse into the eyes of insanity."

"D'you like my eyes?"

"I- this is not-"

"I like yours. They're like bits of fish paste with a side of tomatoes."

In the face of this comment, Jarlaxle found himself a bit speechless.

"Yeah…you got those crazy tomato eyes…makes me wanna get naked with a bottle o' Bailey's."

Jarlaxle gulped once, his so-called tomato eyes darting about frantically, searching for some kind of escape.

"I'm Old Greg!" the lich exclaimed suddenly, almost making Jarlaxle jump in apprehension.

"Greg…I hate to sound rude, but I find that I should leave now. Farewell," Jarlaxle choked out, scratching his eyepatch absentmindedly.

"You can't leave when Old Greg's not gotten his kiss."

Jarlaxle's hands tightened on his hat.

"I do believe that it is time for me to leave-"

"I'm Old Greg!"

"Yes, you are. Now, I have to take my leave…my friend's waiting."

"You give Old Greg a kiss, he'll show you the way out. He'll even let you take a few things with you."

"Greg…I don't usually believe that it's morally right to deny another a simple peck on the cheek, but in this situation, I'm willing to make an exception."

"Oh, Greg don't mean a kiss on the cheek. Old Greg's hungry."

"Surely then you just need to eat something-"

"Oh…I don't think you understand... Old Greg's hungry for some man-tongue."

"I don't say this often, Greg, but…that's utterly horrifying."

The disturbing conversation came to a rather sudden halt when a certain assassin darted from the shadows, hurling a small dart at Greg, catching Jarlaxle about the waist and dashing for a window.

"Hold on," Entreri grunted as he adjusted a ring on his finger. The human dashed straight out the window, levitating slowly to the ground rather than the usual plummet. Jarlaxle sighed explosively as soon as his booted feet touched the ground.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I'm eternally grateful for your existence, Artemis Entreri. In fact, I think I could even kiss you at this moment."  
Entreri's face twitched once.

"If you wish to stay out here, out of the lecherous clutches of," here Entreri lifted up two fingers on both hands, " 'Old Greg', you'll do nothing of the sort."

It was the first and last time that both mercenaries had ridden back to Heliogabalus without Jarlaxle saying a single word.


	2. Splish Splash

_A/N: Hey all! After reading over chapter 2, I realized that the end was not up to my usual snuff. So...I've rewritten bits n' pieces for your reading enjoyment! So...yes. 'S about it._

_**Herr Disclaimer:**_I own nothing here. Maybe the laptop I'm typing it on, but other than that, nope.

Jarlaxle sighed once, draping his colorful cape over a mahogany chair in the mercenaries' shared apartment in Heliogabalus. He sank down onto his bed, removing his gargantuan purple hat and setting it on his lap. A shaky exhale gusted from him as he ran a hand over his head, trying to banish the traumatizing memories that lay therein. However, it was to no avail- the hideous, lisping voice of the most terrifying creature on the face of Faerun echoed in his thoughts, permeating all his delightful thoughts of world domination and mad orgies.

The voice of Old Greg.

Jarlaxle shook himself once, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. There was only one thing that he could do in such a situation- utilize the fine marble bathtub sitting in the bathroom.

He strutted into the room, casually peeling off clothing as he went, whistling a tune as he did so. The notes in his tone seemed to ring long after they had passed his lips, almost visibly hanging in the air. As he whistled, the decorative runes bordering the rim of the tub began to glow with a blue light. Jarlaxle grinned through the tune, and just as abruptly as he had begun, he ceased his keening. The tub immediately began to fill with steaming water, shining all around the room in the light of the sunset. Sighing profoundly, Jarlaxle slid into the water, leaning back against the rim of the tub, closing his eyes.

Ah, yes…bliss.

"I'm Old Greg."

At this proclamation, Jarlaxle's eyes snapped open, his legs attempting to force him upright in a somewhat ungainly fashion.

"AAARRGH!"

"I'm Old Greg!"

Jarlaxle shrank against the far rim of the tub in what a lesser man would label fear. Jarlaxle, however, later referred to it as, 'tactical distancing.'

"Why-? How-? I- AHEM! Good evening to you, Greg," Jarlaxle stammered, regarding the figure in front of him with open horror. It appeared that the deranged lich had foregone his eyesore of a frock in favor of…nothing. The scales present on the lich's body glittered evilly in the fading light, one falling into the frothy water every few minutes.

Jarlaxle swallowed once, pasting on a faint image of his usual cocky grin.

"Tell me, Greg, how in the deuce did you manage to find me?"

Greg's black eyes blinked once, dim red fires shining in their depths.

"Oh. I followed yer cape. Ya can see it flashing from m'tower. All th' colors."

There are very few times that Jarlaxle remembers when he actually considered taking the assassin's advice concerning his wardrobe. This, he found himself deciding, was one of them.

"I see-"

"You got them crazy colors- all swirlin' round in some kinda whirlpool; s' like when you've had a shoe full o' Bailey's and th' room spins- only real, yeah?"

Jarlaxle's eyebrows rose a quarter of an inch.

"That's…nice, Greg. It's not often that my effects are compared to the experience of intoxication."

The lich bobbed his head once, his overlarge mouth twisted dementedly in a disgusting parody of a smile.

"Yeah…so-so I had t'come and find ya. I figured I'd show my appreciation by comin' to ya in my birthday suit."

Jarlaxle suddenly found himself incapable of moving his limbs, the sheer chill of utter doom crushing his nerves with a force equal to a two ton iron weight.

"Ah…ha. Yes. Well-"

"Can we have our time now?"

Jarlaxle's throat tightened.

"Greg…_no_,"Jarlaxle choked out, his voice one octave higher than usual.

A quizzical look crossed the lich's face as it cocked its dessicated head to the side.

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean no, Greg. No. The negation of 'yes.' A word expressing that an idea is undesirable. _In every way_," Jarlaxle blabbered, his arms shaking against the walls of the tub. The lich shook its head and fixed him with its unholy stare, slimy black orbs focusing on him with awful clarity.

A stare that promised eternal suffering and the smell of old tuna.

"But y'can't, now you've seen me."

"Yes, well, I didn't _ask_ to see that, did I?"

The thing grins again, revealing its mossy teeth, one actually escaping from the lich's maw to land precariously close to Jarlaxle's knee.

"Yeah. Well, there's what yer _say_ and what yer _mean_. See, Old Greg can tell yer to 'stop', but he really means, 'more, my fuzzy little man-peach.'"

The lich shakes its head again and slides forward in the tub. Jarlaxle found himself wishing that he'd pressed Kimmuriel a little harder to teach him how to phase through objects.

"Ya know me. And you've seen me. And you love me- I'm Old Greg!"

Jarlaxle groans once, his pain and exasperation apparent.

"Yes. I know."

The lich nods once, its bluish green hair splashing fetid water onto Jarlaxle's torso.

"Yeah. Y'know me. And ya love me." Gregg leaned forward, seaweed flipped coquettishly over one eye.  
"That was our first date, hmm? Ya let me out, with your strong arms!"

Seizing what little courage he has left, Jarlaxle's hands clenched on the rim of the tub, steeling himself in the face of danger. The mercenary leader gave the lich across from him his sweetest grin- a tell tale sign to any who knew Jarlaxle well that the mercenary was either contemplating torturing the subject of said grin to the brink of insanity, or engaging it in back-breaking sex.

In this case, the situation called for the former.

"Greg…I consider myself a patient, forgiving, and extremely handsome man; this 'love' business, however, is beginning to get a bit…wearysome."

The lich fixed Jarlaxle with a murderous glare of its own.

"Well…maybe Old Greg'll have to deal with that. Maybe…I'll deal with it…like I dealt with Tiny Jenkins!" At this, the lich rummaged around briefly underwater, pulling the shrunken head of a blond man from under the surface. The eyes and mouth of the head had been stitched up in a haphazard way, but the general weal of the face's expression was that of complete and utter terror.

Jarlaxle's right eyebrow twitched.

"Ah. It's like that, then, is it?"

The lich, never taking its stygian eyes off of Jarlaxle's, nodded grimly.

"Yes sir. It is, sir."

Sometimes, Jarlaxle sincerely regretted the fact that one had to bathe without any kind of protection. He began to draw a symbol in the air that would vaporize Greg (and most of the furniture in the room), when he caught a slight movement near the door to the apartment.

Jarlaxle grinned charmingly, a cunning plan hatching in his mind.

"Yes…well…perhaps I wasn't thinking clearly, Greg. Perhaps now…in the bath…with the bubbles clinging to your," here Jarlaxle paused for a moment, fighting off the look of disgust that threatened to engulf his face, "your, ah, scales…Perhaps I _could_ start our time."

Taking advantage of the lich's lapse in observation, Jarlaxle hung one hand over the side of the tub and gestured hurriedly in drow sign language, _my hat. Get it. Now._

"You see, Greg," Jarlaxle continued, his voice rising in volume to mask the approaching footsteps of Artemis Entreri behind the somewhat unfortunate lich, "I was playing a game with you."

"Games?" The lich's eyes were fixed on Jarlaxle's, an emotion uncomfortably enough like raw lust playing through them.

"That's right Greg- games."

Artemis Entreri crept ever closer, silently amused at this morbid mockery of what he usually found Jarlaxle in the bath with. He raised his hand with the horrid eyesore that was Jarlaxle's hat. He raised one dark brow in question, to which the drow nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Love games?" Greg asked, inching closer to Jarlaxle, its eyes burning with primal desire.

"Naturally, " Jarlaxle smirked. Just as Greg leapt forward to claim his 'prize', the assassin ripped forth the extradimensional hole disguised as a cloth circle in Jarlaxle's hat, forcing it over Greg's head.

The horror from beyond the grave disappeared in a matter of seconds, with one agonized, "I'm Old Greeeeeeeeeeeeeeg!" echoing around the washroom.

Jarlaxle rose out of the tub and, without bothering to accept the towel the assassin was offering him, hugged Entreri to his chest.

"I…I thank you from the deepest recesses of my heart, Artemis. Let me just say right now, that if you were a woman-"

"Get off," the assassin snarled, planting one hand on Jarlaxle's chest and shoving him across the room. During his temporary flight, Jarlaxle managed to snatch one of the many towels stacked near the tub, wrapping it around his soggy form.

"- I'd make you my queen and seat you on top of a throne of opals and diamonds, worshipping you day and night."

Entreri's face crinkled into the most profoundly disgusted expression Jarlaxle had ever seen.

"Thank you, Jarlaxle. I'll be off now and attempt to dig out my mental eye with a spoon."

"Oh, you know you enjoy it, my friend," Jarlaxle laughed, tossing a wink Entreri's way.  
Entreri snorted once and folded his arms.

"The idea of becoming a woman within a hundred-foot radius of you is one that truly tests the very _limits_ of my sanity. Be grateful that I cannot look at you, elsewise you'd be dead where you puddle."

"Ah, and what a woman you'd make- one that would no doubt keep me on my toes."

A white numbing mist penetrated Entreri's mind at the elf's tone when speaking the otherwise innocent (well, not really innocent) statement.

"Mm. Yes. What a woman you would be. You know, I'm quite partial to the feisty female," the dark elf continued, throwing a wink that could only be described as lascivious.

"As is the case with your lichs?" Entreri returned, a cruel gleam in his mercilessly dark eyes.

Jarlaxle winced.

"Don't say that. Ever again."

_A/N: So yeah. Thinking about a chapter 3, but nothing's happening yet. College has a strange tendency to suck up most of the time that I'm coherent. So...much love, thanks and cookies to all who've reviewed! _

_Adieu!_


	3. Surprises Pt 1

Surprises, Part 1

A/N: All right, this is a two-parter, I've decided. Too much is going on for me to condense it further, so it had to be this way.

Artemis Entreri was not a man who was easily surprised. This was a talent that he'd worked hard as a lad to perfect into habit. Artemis Entreri was a man who would not twitch if a wizard's lightning bolt exploded a hair's breadth from his face, who would not flinch if an arrow was fired point-blank at him. In short, Artemis Entreri was _never_ surprised.

Artemis Entreri, to his utmost chagrin and disgust, found himself surprised. Not by anything that had actually happened _to_ him, mind you, but by the actions of his drow companion, Jarlaxle. An insane drow companion, yes, but that had always been par for the course with drow.

But this was something more than mere insanity- it was simply _wrong_.

Jarlaxle had abandoned his signature floppy purple hat in favor of...nothing.

Upon noticing this, Artemis Entreri insisted to himself that he was _not_ surprised- he was _intrigued_.

A week went by. The hat remained in the corner of their shared room, it's violet hue almost morose in the dim light of the corner. Artemis Entreri insisted to himself that he was simply _interested_. Only this, and nothing more.

Three weeks came and went. The hat stared balefully up at the two rogues, turning a faded lilac color as dust gathered upon its sizeable self. It was almost like keeping a dying relative up in the room with them- one that could drive men mad with its reproachful stare.

Artemis Entreri was surprised.

Finally, when the time Entreri spent staring at Jarlaxle's bald pate began to near a month, Entreri felt that he was under an obligation to discover why in the Nine Hells the damned drow had forsaken that most heinous of his effects.

"You should dispose of that..._thing_ if you do not intend to wear it further," Entreri began one morning, his eyes fixed upon the hat. Jarlaxle, in midst of a soliloquy on his newest encounter with a relatively nondescript member of the female sex, stopped dead cold. He turned about, his eyes wide and crazed.

"That," he hissed, "is what it _wants_."

Entreri was nothing less than dumbfounded.

"Your..._thing_ over there has suddenly gained sentience?" Entreri waved a hand dismissively at the lonely pile of cloth in the corner. Jarlaxle shuddered once, his face twisted in a rare expression of something Entreri had seen many times in his career as an assassin, but never upon the face of his wily companion:

Terror.

"You were there. You know of its- its..._occupant_," Jarlaxle spat, turning his back pointedly on the hat. Entreri shook himself when he was sure his companion wasn't watching, and started towards the doomed article of clothing on the floor.

"Then why not get _rid_ of it, Jarlaxle? Why must it take up the floor- and on _my_ side of the room, as well?"

Jarlaxle shifted once, his normally confident posture bent with paranoia.

"Because...it's _watching_ me. Can you not understand that? It's _watching_ me."

Entreri blinked once, shook his head and growled, "So? Get _rid_ of it then!"

A crazed, almost feral expression twisted the drow's visage almost beyond recognition.

"What? Like we did the _first_ time? No. No- it'll come back. Jarlaxle is many things, my friend, but a 'fuzzy little man-peach' is _not_ one of them!"

Silence filled the room.

"A...what?" Entreri managed to blurt through his shock. Jarlaxle wrapped his arms around himself, fixing a determined glare upon Entreri. In his panic, he'd forgotten what Entreri had actually _seen _and what he _hadn't_.

"You heard me. _I will not have it, you hear?!_"

At this point Entreri, who later swore that he simply liked to breathe with his mouth wide open, sighed magnificently and gestured to the hat.

"Why don't you burn it, then? Destroy the entire-"

"What? And lose my toys along with it?! Don't be absurd!" Jarlaxle scoffed, rolling his eyes. Entreri's face sank into his hands at this.

"Because you're getting such _marvelous_ use out of them at the present time," Entreri returned, his tone and facial expression making his disdain for the elf's paranoia evident.

The glare that shot from Jarlaxle's eyes could have melted an iron city.

"If it's such a waste, then remove them yourself," Jarlaxle huffed, tossing his head dramatically. Enteri snorted derisively at this.

"Because I know _exactly_ what is useful and what _isn't_ in that ridiculous horror that you placed on your brow for the past few hundred years," Entreri replied, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

Jarlaxle raised one elegant white brow in response.

"I'll help you. I won't touch the thing, I say."

Entreri snarled, glancing at the hat and back at its master. They were in this together- he knew it.

"Why must it be _me_? Why can't you do this your own self, Jarlaxle?"

"_Because I don't wish to be forced to perform indecent acts in my own bed by the grandmother __of all that is scaled and smells like a month-old corpse that has been marinating in the deepest, filthiest, most vile bayou known to any race_," Jarlaxle snarled, his voice growing softer and more deadly.

"And, of course, it's quite all right if I'm at risk," sulked Entreri, his expression becoming that of a long-suffering martyr.

Jarlaxle's glowing eyes narrowed.

"If you wish the hat gone, it must be by your hand- I'll not have that _thing_ return. Ever."

An explosive sigh escaped Entreri as he stomped towards the pitiful piece of cloth, eyes narrowed and promising only pain to the helpless hat. He snatched up the hat roughly turning the thing over on his lap. Across the room, Jarlaxle winced as though Entreri had trodden on his foot.

"_Do_ be careful, Artemis. My toys won't work half as well if broken."

A curt grunt answered Jarlaxle's plea as Entreri glanced back at the dark elf.

"Well? What do I save, and what do I incinerate?"

Jarlaxle cleared his throat.

"The band, feather, anything under the band, anything in the crown, anything..."

"In short, _everything_, yes?" Enteri grumbled, glaring again at the woefully dusty hat.

"_Almost_ everything, my dour friend. To live in a state of absolutes is to be a fool," Jarlaxle sniffed, adjusting his eyepatch absentmindedly.

Entreri sighed again, turning his attention back to the hat. After a few moments tugging fruitlessly at the band, the irate assassin turned back to Jarlaxle, proverbial daggers shooting from his eyes.

"Jarlaxle. How do I get this band off short of slicing it in two-"

"I'll kill you where you stand if you do such a thing- Rings of Adhesion aren't easy things to come by," Jarlaxle replied lightly, leaning casually against a wall on the opposite side of the room.

"A Ring of Adhesion? What-"

"I couldn't just have that _fly_ off my head whenever it was windy, you know. It's undignified to chase after one's own hat."

"Right. Well, then, how do I get it _off_ your hat that currently isn't on your head?"

"You could ask it. Nicely."

Entreri stared at Jarlaxle as though he'd begun singing the praises of celibacy.

"Ask it, you say? Me asking a hat band to, 'kindly remove itself from its present host as it is on the brink of imminent destruction' is going to-"

To Artemis Enteri's surprise, the band veritably jumped off the hat's crown and into his hands.

A satisfied chuckle came from across the room

"Ah, now, was that so hard? A little common courtesy-"

"Shut up."

The chuckling predictably evolved into a full-grown laugh as the drow shook his head in mock-disbelief.

"Such manners! No wonder you are always without a woman- you are incapable of any and every kind of gentility. I believe that your race has a proverb for this very situation concerning flying insects and honey-"

"Continue this conversation and you will be forever without a woman for literal reasons, Jarlaxle. Now, what _else_ am I removing?" Entreri snapped.

Two hours later, Entreri was covered in a grand myriad of objects, from golden morning-stars to fine literature to sewing needles to hand-woven throw rugs, and was currently pulling a seemingly never-ending streamer of white silk out of the hat's crown.

"What is _this_, then?" Enteri gritted through clenched teeth as he pulled on the silk, looking rather like a young child playing with his mother's clothes on his bedroom floor.

"Menzoberranyr spider silk. The very finest. A rope of it can lift a score of heavily armed dwarves without even stretching. I find it's also good for tying things up-"

"Does it possess an ending?" Entreri cut in, preemptively cutting off the elf as Jarlaxle's voice took on a lewd intonation.

"Yes. It might be stuck, though- do keep trying."

"Very helpful," sneered Entreri as he redoubled his efforts to yank the "rope" out of the hat. Only to have Entreri fall backwards as the remainder of the strand veritably flew out of the crown, dragging with it a tangled mess of wands, figurines, trinkets, potted plants, several female undergarments and other miscellaneous objects.

"Ah, so it _was_ a tad snarled. Well, then, that's just about it!"

"No one is more relieved to hear this than I, I assure you."

The very last object attached to the snarl of shimmering spider silk was a small swatch of black cloth, one that was difficult to see in the growing darkness of the tavern room.

One that made no noise as it fell to the floor.

And promptly opened up to become an exta-dimensional hole.

Artemis Entreri, oddly enough, was somehow not surprised to find himself falling into nothing, a myriad of magical articles caught within and around his cloak and person.

_I hate drow_, Entreri thought distractedly as he tumbled downwards.

Up in the apartment, Jarlaxle scowled and took a step backwards.

"_Naturally_," he whispered, shying away from the gaping hole in the floor.

A/N: Hah. Sorry about the lack of Gregg- he'll be there soon enough.


End file.
